


5 times Connor protected Murphy, +1 time he didn't have to

by liggytheauthoress



Series: Five Times [1]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: M/M, implied twincest but can be read as brotherly love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/pseuds/liggytheauthoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But you do know one thing: you love him more than anything else in the whole wide world. More than Ma, than Da, than anything. And even though you’re only three, you’re already keeping him safe. Already the protector. Because that’s what you’re meant to do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 times Connor protected Murphy, +1 time he didn't have to

You’re three years old.

You can’t do much, not yet, and there are a lot of things you don’t understand. You haven’t even learned how to talk properly yet. There are so many things you don’t know.

But you do know one thing: you love  _him_ more than anything else in the whole wide world. More than Ma, than Da, than anything. And even though you’re only three, you’re already keeping him safe. Already the protector. Because that’s what you’re meant to do.

You’re both sitting on a blanket in the backyard while Ma hangs out the washing. You’re both bored. You figure it’s easier to just take a nap until it’s time to go back inside, but he doesn’t feel the same way, because that’s just not Murphy. Murphy doesn’t like sitting still or being patient. Murphy likes to move.

When he stands up and starts wandering around the yard, you watch him, because this is Murphy, and if there’s any trouble to be gotten into, he’ll find it. But it’s only your backyard, and Ma’s there, so how much trouble could there be?

You only look away for a few seconds, just long enough to watch a couple of rabbits bounding around the field behind your home, and when you turn back, Murphy is disappearing around the front corner of the house.

A second later you’re up and running after him, because you can’t protect him if you can’t see him. You round the corner just in time to see him standing at the edge of the road. It’s not a busy road, not usually, but today there’s a car coming. A very fast car. If Murphy steps into the road, he’ll get hit.

You run faster than you’ve ever run in your whole life, reaching him and grabbing his hand just as he moves to step forward. You yank him backwards, sending you both falling onto the grass, only moments before the car whooshes by.

In a few minutes you’ll drag him back to Ma (you won’t tattle though, not ever) and not leave his side until you’re both back in the house, but for right now, you just wrap your arms around him and hide your face in his shoulder.

You’re only three, but you know that you can’t ever, ever lose him.

* * *

 

You’re nine years old.

You’re both in the car with Ma, on the way home from visiting family. You and Murphy are sitting across from each other in the back seat, arguing over whose turn it is to pick the radio station. Even though it’s your turn, you’ll probably end up letting him pick. Ma keeps telling you both to hush up, because it’s raining and dark and she’s trying to concentrate on driving, but you aren’t really listening.

Suddenly you’re thrown against the door as the car hits a particularly slippery patch of road, and it’s spinning around and around and around, across the entire highway.

There are headlights coming at you and you’re hit with the realization that they’re going to hit the car. You’re too panicked to think, but when it comes to protecting Murphy, thinking isn’t necessary.

Without hesitation, you lunge over and throw yourself on top of him, bracing yourself and shielding him from the impact you know is coming. You know it will hurt, but you’d prefer that to him getting hurt. Your hand clamps down around his as you try to cover as much of him as possible.

_Please don’t let him get hurt._

In the end, it’s not that bad. The car spins out of the way at the last second and straightens out. Ma pulls over to the side of the road and screeches to such a fast stop that you and Murphy are both thrown forwards, then back, and you’ll both have bruises tomorrow, but you don’t care. You sit up and look Murphy up and down, checking for injuries, letting him do the same to you.

His hand remains tightly entwined with yours the rest of the way home.

* * *

 

You’re fourteen years old.

It’s your freshman year of high school, and it’s already getting off to a terrible start, because Murphy’s schedule is different than yours and that means you won’t see him until the end of the day. You express concern, because you don’t like the idea of not being able to keep an eye on him, but Murphy just scoffs and says he can take care of himself.

You know he can. You’re just better at taking care of him, is all.

But you don’t say anything.

The day drags by at an agonizing crawl, the dull classes made even more boring without Murphy. By the time your last class lets out, you’re practically climbing the walls. You need to see your fucking brother now.

When the bell rings, you make a mad dash down the hall, heading for the bike rack outside, which is where you and Murph agreed to meet. You’re the first one there. Damn. You slump against the bike rack and huff a sigh, hoping he turns up soon.

Ten minutes later and still no Murph. Now you’re worried. You wonder if he got lost, so you hurry back into the building in search of him. The halls are empty, and it’s quiet enough for you to hear the scuffling sounds coming from the boys’ bathroom.

Your walk breaks into a run, and as you burst into the bathroom, you see your brother crouched in a corner, trying to defend himself from three much taller, much bigger boys as they pummel him with their fists. You can tell by looking at them that Murph gave as good a beating as he got, but there are three of them, and not even Murph can hold his own that long.

Moving on pure reflex, you lunge at the nearest bully, knocking him into the wall and shifting the fuckers’ attention away from Murphy. Murph’s not about to let you fight them on your own, though, even though you can handle it and he’s hurt and should be getting out of there.

One of the teachers comes in before things can get really bad. You’re given a warning and a quick once-over by the school nurse before they send you limping home. You have a black eye and a headache, and Murphy’s got a split lip and bloody nose, but you’re both in one piece.

Even though it hurts his pride, Murphy says thank you, because he knows just as well as you do that it could have been a lot worse if you hadn’t shown up.

* * *

 

You’re twenty-one years old.

The two of you are living in a loft in South Boston. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s home, and as long as your with your brother, you don’t much care where you live.

It’s his turn to make the beer run. He grumbles as you kick him off the sofa and tell him to move his ass, but there’s no real malice there. You both know it’s his turn, after all. Briefly, you offer to go with him, but he shakes his head, saying there’s no need, he’ll be back soon.

He’s been gone only five minutes before you realize he left his wallet sitting on the kitchen table. No buying beer without that. You consider just letting him come back for it, but that would mean waiting even longer for beer, and besides, the fresh air will do you good.

Outside, you stride down the sidewalk towards the corner store, but before you’re even halfway there, a noise from an alley attracts your attention. You turn your head and see Murphy, hands raised, facing a ragged-looking man holding a gun on him. Murph’s trying to convince him that he has nothing on him, he forgot his wallet, but the man’s not buying it.

It’s a reflex. You call to the man, walking slowly towards him with the wallet clearly visible in your outstretched hand. You don’t really have a plan; you just know that you need to get Murphy out of the line of fire.

You’re tempted to make a grab for the gun, but you don’t dare, not with Murph so close. He feels differently, apparently, because as the man is reaching for the wallet, Murphy launches into him, knocking the gun out of his hand and sending him scurrying away with his tail between his legs.

You exhale sharply, trying not to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t come after your brother.

* * *

 

You’re twenty-nine years old.

You’re hungover and not entirely sure what’s happening, but there are two angry Russians in your flat waving guns around, and above the buzz and haze of last night’s drinking binge is a single coherent thought: protect Murph.

Except suddenly you’re being forced to handcuff yourself to the toilet, and the bigger Russian is hissing in your ear that he’s going to kill you- No, not you.

Murphy.

You scream as they take him away, your heart stopping as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You will not let this happen, you will not.

You start wrenching at the cuffs, praying for them to loosen, to open, until your wrists are raw and bleeding. You don’t notice the pain. All you can think about is Murphy. Murphy, who is being punished because of a fucking line you crossed during the barfight.

You don’t even know how you manage it, but all of a sudden you’re wrenching the toilet out of the wall and staggering up to the roof. You have no conscious idea what you’re doing, you’re moving purely on instinct, the strongest you have: the instinct to protect him.

When you reach the edge of the roof, you look down and see Murphy on his knees in the alley below. There’s a gun pointed at his forehead. You send the remains of the toilet plunging downwards, hoping they’ll hit the Russian but not Murph, hoping you won’t be too late.

And then, without even thinking twice, you jump.

You’re aware of plummeting, of Murphy yelling and guns going off, of hitting the other Russian and then the pavement, then nothing.

When you wake up in the hospital, it’s to Murphy yelling at you for being so stupid, but you don’t care, because he’s here and alive and well, and so are you, and that’s all that matters.

All that will ever matter.

* * *

 

You’re thirty years old.

You’re lying next to him in the bed you share, wrapped around him and holding him tightly. You know you should both be getting up soon - it’s late and the farm won’t run itself - but you’re enjoying the peace of the moment too much.

It was a long road that brought the two of you here, and you’re all too aware that, at any moment, things could change irreversibly. That at any moment, you could both find yourselves back in a world of guns and mobsters and death. And you’ll have to start protecting him again.

But for right now, you’re safe. You’re content. You’re together.

You will always be together.

And that’s the way it should be.


End file.
